


maybe, maybe

by grasslandgirl



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Post-Canon, They both think they're unrequited pining after the other, aka they're both dumb as hell but thats the eldonado brand by now isn't it folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasslandgirl/pseuds/grasslandgirl
Summary: Looking back, there wasn’t ever a moment of realization or epiphany, it was this- the slow shifting of feelings with the eventual dawning realization that wanting to hold your best friend’s hand and planning how the two of you would go to prom together weren’t the most platonic of emotions. It was the creeping jealousy when someone asked Sam out- even if he said no- or when people theorized he and Chloe went out after she broke up with Tanner. (Or that he and Tanner went out after Chloe broke up with him.) It was the yawning chasm of grief when Sam leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder, or grabbed him by the hand, or sent him a stupid inside joke meme at two in the morning- because he knew Peter would still be awake- and Peter would think,maybe, maybe.It was this- Peter didn’t want to kiss anyone but Sam at New Year’s, and he wasn’t allowed to.
Relationships: Sam Ecklund/Peter Maldonado
Comments: 13
Kudos: 84





	maybe, maybe

**Author's Note:**

> here's the story: it's 11:30 on new years eve, i'm bored, and i start thinking about an eldonado nye party au (and obviously the subsequent nye kiss) and start writing out the fic in a tumblr post. flash forward two hours, it's 1:30, i've FINISHED the original version of this fic and i post it on tumblr. after i post it, i go in and edit the tags AFTER it's been posted and something in the shitstorm that is tumblr crashed and it ate my fic in it's entirety- leaving only the title and NONE of the fic i'd spent 2 hours writing. i was, to say the least, infuriated; not only that the website had proved itself to be the horror show i knew it could be, but also because i was foolish enough to write something solely on tumblr without copying it somewhere or making a backup.  
> so of course, the next morning i woke up and started writing THIS version (in a google doc this time), fueled by pure spite.  
> here you are, please enjoy, learn from my grave errors, and happy new years xoxoxx-

The curb outside Gabi’s apartment was still warm. It had sat outside all day in the California heat and despite it being almost midnight, Peter could still feel the warmth radiating up from the concrete. 

There was a party going on inside, one that Peter had been invited to, but it had all gotten to be- too much. Peter had never been a fan of parties, he’d always felt too awkward, too uncertain for their specific brand of finely-honed chaos. And New Year’s Eve parties were an even harder beast to tame. 

For most of the night, Peter had been fine. He’d had a couple beers early in the night, he caught up with Gabi and Ming and the other Hanover people that had been there, he met some of Gabi’s friends and neighbors. He even did his best to answer the incessant amount of questions people threw at him- what did he think the next season of Vandal was going to be like? Which season did he prefer making? Did he want to hear their theory about Christa? About the Turdburglar? Did he have a girlfriend? Were he and Sam still working together? Was he seeing anyone? Was he going to kiss someone at midnight?

It was a lot. Especially, the questions about his personal life.

Peter was out, technically. He didn’t try to hide or cover up his sexuality, and everyone important in his life knew, but Peter was also aware that he was making his first strides into an incredible fickle industry. One that hadn’t historically been kind to young queer men; much less young queer men of color. He was being wary, was all, and he didn’t want to risk his job with Netflix based on some antiquated white man’s views on love and marriage. And he didn’t see how it was these strangers’ business who he was attracted to.

Also, he was hopelessly in love with his best friend. So, there was that. 

God, he was a cliche. 

Sam was his best friend, his partner, his right hand, and Peter’d been in love with him for years at this point. 

Looking back, there wasn’t ever a moment of realization or epiphany, it was this- the slow shifting of feelings with the eventual dawning realization that wanting to hold your best friend’s hand and planning how the two of you would go to prom together weren’t the most platonic of emotions. It was the creeping jealousy when someone asked Sam out- even if he said no- or when people theorized he and Chloe went out after she broke up with Tanner. (Or that he and Tanner went out after Chloe broke up with him.) It was the yawning chasm of grief when Sam leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder, or grabbed him by the hand, or sent him a stupid inside joke meme at two in the morning- because he knew Peter would still be awake- and Peter would think,  _ maybe, maybe. _

It was this- Peter didn’t want to kiss anyone but Sam at New Year’s, and he wasn’t allowed to.

Because Sam was his best friend, and Peter wouldn’t risk that friendship for anything in the world. Someday, his crush would fade away again and Peter would go on as always, and Sam would be none the wiser. Because Sam didn’t feel that way about Peter, and Peter didn’t think he ever would.

It was this- seeing Sam kiss someone on New Year’s might kill him.

So Peter had slipped out of the party, avoiding Gabi’s curious eye, and ducked out the door. The parking lot outside Gabi’s apartment complex was full of cars and almost entirely silent. In the distance, he could hear explosions from premature fireworks shows. Peter looked down at his phone in his lap- 11:47. At least thirty more minutes before he could slide back into the party- hopefully- unnoticed. 

Peter tapped an uneven rhythm on his knee.

Tomorrow, he and Sam would wake up late in his mother’s basement, and spend the day eating old Christmas cookies, watching terrible movies, and playing cards. It was tradition, something they’d been doing for years- ever since their parents first became friends and had celebrated New Year’s at the Maldonado’s sometime in elementary school. Peter couldn’t imagine New Year’s without Sam, he didn’t want to. 

He sighed and dropped his head into his hand. 

He wanted to be home already. He wanted to be at the party, happy and laughing and talking, without feeling a stormcloud hang over his head. He wanted to be as natural and comfortable in a crowd as Sam was. He wanted to stand beside Sam and be able to smile at him whenever he wanted. He wanted not to worry about what people thought about him, about the third season of Vandal hanging over his head. He wanted to tell Sam everything without worrying that he would lose a friendship that meant everything to him. He wanted to kiss Sam at midnight and be kissed back. 

Peter wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have.

He looked at his phone again- 11:49. 

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Peter had disappeared.

Honestly, Sam didn’t find it all that surprising, Peter’d never been one for parties. He tended to hang in the corner, or at Sam’s elbow and slowly nurse a drink while he blinked owlishly at whoever was trying to talk to him. And eventually, Peter would disappear into a bathroom, or a (unoccupied) bedroom, or the backyard. He always said it would get too loud in the party for him to think, that he needed a minute to gather himself back together. Sam was used to it; if anything, he liked Peter’s introversion, he kept Sam grounded, stopped him from being too often spun away by the momentum of the party. And, of course, Sam was the only one- other than sometimes Dylan- who could pull Peter out of his shell or out from behind a camera.

But Peter almost always told Sam before he disappeared at a party. 

Tonight, he hadn’t. 

Sam tried not to read too much into it.

He circled the party, asking around to see if anyone had seen where Peter had disappeared off to, but no one had. Sam wandered back over to Gabi, who was listening to a story one of her friends was telling- Sam only heard part of it, but it included the seemingly incongruous elements of a missing cat, a bag of airplane peanuts, a stranger’s funeral, and a lot of weed- and told her that he was going to dip out and try to find Peter. She nodded, and he kissed her gently on the cheek as a goodbye- Peter had gotten his relationship with Gabi entirely wrong in sophomore year, Gabi was one of his best friends in the world, and she knew far too many of his dirty secrets for there to ever be anything more between them. Gabi gave him a sharp, knowing look as he walked away, smirking at him briefly in recognition before turning back to her friend’s story.

Aka, the biggest dirty little secret.

Sam snaked his way through the party, doing his best to duck away from conversations and offered drinks and shouts of, “Hey Ecklund!” from across the room. He managed it, but he assumed with far less grace and subtlety than Peter had. 

The hallway directly outside of Gabi’s apartment was startlingly quiet. That, or the party had been deafeningly loud, and Sam hadn’t realized it until now. Probably the latter; but either way, stepping into the quiet hallway gave the feeling that Sam had walked into another world. It was equal parts unnerving and soothing.

He quietly left the building, trying not to disturb Gabi’s neighbors any more than the party upstairs already was. He wandered outside, towards the parking lot and- there. Peter was crouched on a curb at the edge of the parking lot. The streetlight over his head shone down, turning his dark hair to an oil slick, his skin to gold. He looked like an oil painting, all shining colors and dark blues that faded into the surrounding black. He was staring out over the parking lot, like a centuries-old king over his kingdom, and didn’t look up as Sam quietly approached. His glasses cast shadows in thick, black lines over the planes of his face, and Sam thought he saw something pained in his expression.

Peter looked up, though, as Sam sat down beside him- leaving a careful few inches of space between them- and smiled at Sam, brightright and wide and incredulous. It lasted only a moment, before Peter looked back out at the horizon of scattered cars and trees, turned to hulking shadows in the darkness. The tension in Peter’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though, so there was that. 

“Hey,” Peter said gently, like he meant,  _ I’m sorry I left the party. _

Sam looked out at the night sky, too. The light pollution of the city robbed them of any stars, but the moon hung, low and yellow and nearly full, over the parking lot. There was the distant echo of early fireworks, and if Sam strained, he could almost hear the music and chatter from a nearby party- maybe even the one he and Peter had just left. But everything felt washed out and distant and not quite real; as if he and Peter were alone on an island, surrounded by cars and the dim lights of the moon and the streetlight above their heads. 

“Hey,” Sam echoed, like he meant,  _ I know, I understand. _

* * *

Something in Peter’s chest tightened and relaxed when Sam sat beside him. Tightened, because Peter wanted to lean against him, to feel the warmth of his shoulder curled into Sam’s. Relaxed, because Sam chose to be out here with him, instead of inside with everyone else. Tightened, because it was almost midnight and Peter wanted nothing more than to kiss Sam at midnight. Relaxed, because Sam had known exactly where to find Peter, and had understood why- at least in part- he had disappeared. Tightened, because there were only inches between them. Relaxed, because Sam was  _ here. _

Tightened, because  _ Sam _ was here.

It was a push and pull that Peter was familiar with, a tide of pain and comfort that came with being in love with your best friend. 

Peter shifted, leaning back to prop his hand behind him; just for something to do, something to unknot the tightly wound cord inside him. He set his hand down blindly behind him, and immediately froze. He had propped his hand on top of Sam’s.

Really, it shouldn’t mean anything. They were best friends, they leaned on each other and touched hands all the time; but this felt… different. Insurmountable. Peter didn’t know which would be more obvious- keeping their hands touching and trying to pretend like it didn’t light him up like an electric charge inside, or jumping away and moving to a less intimate position. 

Tentatively, he relaxed. He kept his hand where it was and waited for Sam to move. It would only take a small shift of his fingers to break the contact, a few inches at most. 

Sam didn’t move.

Peter felt that cord in his chest pull a notch tighter. 

There were moments sometimes, small ones where Peter and Sam were alone, when Peter would feel like maybe, maybe…  _ something. _ When Sam would look at him a beat too long, or Peter would catch a glint in Sam’s eye when he banged their shoulders together. And Peter would think maybe, maybe there was something… something he didn’t want to name. Didn’t want to hope for. 

This was one of those moments. The feeling of  _ maybe-almost-something _ washed over Peter like a wave, and he held his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam turn and watch him for a single, long moment. It felt like the night was frozen around them. Just the two of them against the world. 

Just this- Sam looking at Peter, and Peter watching Sam, and neither of them saying anything.

Everything neither of them said hung in the air around them, arching through the night, lacing through their hands. 

Sam looked away. Peter looked down at his phone. 12:00.

“Happy New Year’s, Sammy.” 

Sam shifted his fingers just slightly, curling them around Peter’s. The  _ almost-maybe-something _ feeling was a wildfire, burning him alive. 

“Happy New Year’s, Pete,” Sam echoed. Sam turned again to look at Peter, and this time, Peter mirrored his position. They were facing each other, two parentheses on a curb. 

There was a flyaway strand of hair hanging in Sam’s face- one that had broken away from his carefully arranged quiff. Peter watched it move gently in the late night air. He wanted to brush it away. He wanted to trace his fingers along Sam’s face. 

He wanted a lot of impossible things. 

Silently, without looking away, Sam squeezed Peter’s hand again; just once, just this- a question. An impossible question. 

An impossible answer.

With aching slowness, Peter raised his free hand and carefully tucked the stray piece of hair away; waiting with ever inch, every movement, for Sam to lean away and break the moment. 

Sam didn’t move, didn’t look away, didn’t let go of Peter’s hand.

The wildfire inside Peter grew.

He gently traced his finger along Sam’s ear, the curve of his jaw; places he’d wanted to touch for years. He brushed a single fingertip- feather light- against Sam’s bottom lip. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed and the tension seeped from his shoulders. He squeezed Peter’s hand again.

Sam opened his eyes. There was something exhilarated and wild and warm in his gaze, and Peter’s pulse thundered in his temples, in his throat, in his fingertips.

Then,  _ then, _ Sam leaned in and kissed him.

It was this- warm and gentle and perfectly cautious, like Sam was as certain and terrified and hopeful about this as Peter was. It was this- a question and an answer in one. It was this- Peter surging forward, his free hand burying into Sam’s hair. 

In the movie of Peter’s mind, thematic music swelled and the shot panned out and a cluster of fireworks exploded perfectly over their heads.

Then, a cluster of fireworks  _ did  _ explode over their heads, and they jumped away from each other, waiting only one terrified second before bursting into joyous, relieved laughter. 

“Yeah?” Sam asked; a smile threatened to split his face in half. 

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, already leaning back in. They didn’t say anything else for a long time; they didn’t have to.

They both knew exactly what they meant. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! comments, kudos, and constructive criticisms are always welcome!  
> my tumblr is [@grasslandgirl](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell about eldonado or american vandal or how netflix was homophobic by denying us a third season!! PLEASE send me prompts about these wonderful, wonderful boys i'm always ready and excited to write for them! happy new years <3


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